


Under the bleachers, under the stars

by Anonymous



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Dissociation, Disturbing Themes, Drabble, Drabble Sequence, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insomnia, M/M, Season/Series 02, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Five times Steve couldn’t care less and one time he cared too much.





	Under the bleachers, under the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PerplexingParadox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerplexingParadox/gifts).



> 5+1×100 words drabble
> 
> Some upsetting themes, fair warning. But uh, in my mind it ends well?

Steve can’t focus.

Steve can’t sleep.

He’s so tired he could _cry_.

In front of the blackboard, Carol rolls the chalk between her fingers, biting her lip, eyes big and helpless. The teacher sighs. “First you need to–”

Steve hears the words. They make no sense. His hand is holding a pen, refusing to copy whatever the teacher writes while Carol watches.

The air is heavy like water.

Polynomials make no sense. Steve is drowning.

Lunch is just as surreal. He avoids Nance. She is basically in Jonathan’s lap. He ignores Carol’s high-pitched giggles as Tommy teases and kisses her.

**✼**

The world is less bright and overwhelming under the bleachers. Steve skips basketball practice to lie there, eyes wide open, heartbeat spiking at every rustle of the wind.

He hears footsteps but he doesn’t look up, he doesn’t move. There is a tuft of grass Steve can’t stop staring at.

“Harrington.”

Steve registers the name. A moment passes, then another. Hargrove peers into his eyes, shakes his shoulder. Steve sighs and waits.

“You high or something?”

Steve laughs.

“Fuck. What did you take?”

“Too much,” Steve responds, minutes later. “Too much of life.”

He can’t stop laughing once he starts.

**✼**

Hargrove settles next to him, lights a cigarette. Steve makes a grabby gesture.

The silence is almost companionable.

“I’m taking you home,” Hargrove says when the sky gets dark.

“You’re forward,” Steve grins, all teeth, no smile.

Hargrove wrestles him into the passenger’s seat. At full throttle, Hargrove makes the car fly faster, _faster_ , eyes gleaming like he keeps waiting for Steve to tell him to slow down.

Steve switches on the tape player, rolls down the window and turns his face to the wind. The streets are a blur.

Steve turns up the volume, _Jock-O-Rama_ blaring into the night.

**✼**

Steve gets out of the car. Hargrove follows.

“What? You gonna tuck me in?” Steve sneers, something thrumming all restless under his skin.

“You’re so fucking needy.” Hargrove eyes the empty house.

“Just me and you,” Steve confirms, tilting his head. “Wanna come in? There’s booze.”

Hargrove grabs Steve’s keys, gets the house unlocked, finds the alcohol before Steve finishes locking up.

“Bedroom?”

“Upstairs.” Steve drops his shirt on the stairs.

Hargrove pushes him down on the bed, covers him with his naked skin.

There are hand-shaped bruises around Hargrove’s neck. And arms.

Steve reaches out, flicks off the lights.

**✼**

Hargrove falls asleep on the bed.

Steve scoots closer to the heat radiating from him. He doesn’t sleep but it’s the most relaxed he’s been in months. It’s like he can take a breath without drowning. His head feels clearer.

Steve props himself against the headboard and keeps smoking until Hargrove wakes up.

“Morning,” Hargrove says, bums a smoke from Steve.

Steve doesn’t feel like talking, just watches as Hargrove get dressed, almost succeeding in hiding all the bruises.

“Uh. See you at school.”

Steve nods, smiles.

The house is always empty, no one will know when they fool around.

**✼**

They keep sneaking under the bleachers to smoke. Or drink. Or both.

Sometimes, they also kiss. And grope and rut against each other with desperate need. Steve never feels more grounded than in those fleeting moments, with Hargrove’s hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Warm. Safe.

The school is almost over and Steve doesn’t ask what’s next because he fears the answer is _nothing_.

He kisses Hargrove deep and urgent, like each kiss might be the last. For all Steve knows, it might be.

Sometimes, when Hargrove follows him home, Steve thinks Hargrove kisses back just as desperately.


End file.
